Kale, garlic, and onions come together over a low flame. The rice is done and keeps warm in a sauce pot on the stove. A touch of sweet chili sauce and dinner is ready. My bare feet dance around this kitchen, slapping the shiny hardwood floor in rhythm with Beirut's '06 album, Gulag Orkestar (check Mount Wroclair/ Idle Days below).
Made it. Live here. Manhattan, ladies and gentlemen, is home. This morning I explored the neighborhood, happened upon a bi-weekly farmers market at the end of my block (serendipitous, no?), got the aforementioned produce for dinner, and then headed downtown for a bike ride through central park. It's brutally hot and humid, but sweat on my neck and salt on my lips only add to the romance of all this change.
Thank gosh for hot nights and good music in a new town.
Thank gosh for great apartments, and for nestling in.
Thank gosh for all of that backpack living, and for a slow transition from life on the road to permanence...what a beautiful thing.
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